So this second part to my first story, The House on Cambridge, and it picks-up where the first left-off -- about a month into having just moved-in. To bring you up-to-date, even before we bought the place, my mother had seen and heard things which were not there upon further investigation. My stepfather was beginning to question my mother's sanity a little. Nobody else had really experienced anything out of the ordinary but her at this point. That is until my little brother, J, started complaining about "the white lady..."
It's difficult to relate this story now because it all started in the early 1990s and most was kept hidden from the children in the family to avoid scaring them. However, my brother, J, had no such luck as the entities in the house took an almost instant shining to him (pardon the pun). There may be some discrepancies in the timeline, but I'll do my best to remain accurate.
I believe it was that first autumn that we moved-in in 1991 that my little brother who was about six years old at the time came into my parents' room one night and said exactly this, "that lady won't leave me alone..." At first, neither parent was too alarmed over this as children have vivid imaginations. Mine was so active that as a child, I often related dreams to my parents the next morning as adventures I'd actually experienced the previous day. At any rate, that first night, they took him back to his room and put him back in bed. He slept the rest of the night without any problems.
But within a few days, J was back in my parents' room in the middle of the night complaining that "the woman" was keeping him awake. This time, she was supposedly pulling down his sheets and waking him up. At this point, my mother thought this was an awfully specific bit of information coming from a first grader, but my stepfather was unruffled. Again, they took him back and tucked him into bed.
This went on rather regularly for the next several weeks, until one night my brother upped the ante when he informed my parents very loudly at 4 AM one night that "she" was tickling him. At this point, my mother was keenly aware of something going on and even my stepfather started to wonder what was really going on with his son. Again, they put him back in his bed, but this time, my mother expressed to my stepfather her belief that something supernatural was occurring in their house. Her experiences in conjunction with J's lended credibility to this stance in her eyes, but my stepfather was still, not only skeptical, but totally unbelieving. If you have never experienced something supernatural, it is virtually impossible to believe it. You may believe in ghosts without having seen one, but until you come into direct contact with them, it's just a different story.
Both my parents were awoken on a few occasions to the sound of someone walking around the landing of the second floor at about 4 AM some nights. Upon inspecting these noises, there would, of course, be nobody there. Both would hear this, but, because we had seven people living in a very old house, my stepfather would chalk it up to random kids out of bed and creaky floors.
My brother would creep into our parents' room with some regularity throughout his childhood complaining of "the lady in [his] room..." But it was not until one afternoon the next summer that my mother felt absolutely sure that she was not crazy and that there really was a spirit sharing the house with us.
One afternoon, my brother, J, was out in the front yard hitting whiffle golf balls. My mother was inside cleaning the foyer which, of course, is the first space you enter upon coming in the front door which was made of glass. All at once, in mid-swing, she saw my brother freeze, drop his club and come racing in the front door. Perplexed by his sudden moves and pained look on his face, she asked him what was wrong. He replied, "they keep saying my name and asking me to play with them," or something along those lines. It was a long time ago and nobody wrote this down verbatim, but the crux of this anecdote is that his first name was whispered in his ear and he was implored to join in a game. And he was visibly upset. At this point, my mother was adamant that her house was haunted and split no straws over the fact with my stepfather.
My stepfather would eventually be convinced of the possibility of a haunting (and then some), but that story will have to comprise part III.
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